


"The Shadow that Hides Us From Death"

by Laivaaja, SneakyBunyip



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Cave-In, Gen, Humor, Lone Survivor, Rescue, Survivor’s Guilt, Trapped, Violence, origin story of trooper from Bishop’s Hand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja/pseuds/Laivaaja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip
Summary: The tale of Darth Vader saving a stormtrooper willing to put his life in danger to save others.





	1. Rebar (The Tale of TK-317 aka “Crash”)

**Author's Note:**

> Art/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Crash is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
> [](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816)  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

“You alright?” TK-317 wheezed.

“Are _we_ alright? You’re the one with half the Rebel base on your chest! Why’d you go and do that, rookie?”

TK-317 couldn’t respond. He could barely breathe. And anyway what sort of question was that? Of course he was going to shove his comrades out of the way. Of course he would prefer to be beneath a nerf-size pile of debris instead. The alternative was letting his fellow troopers die beneath the collapsed roof and that simply wasn’t an option.

No...it was better he was here.

Through the dusty film of his visor, TK-317 could see death above him: Large chunks of concrete were precariously held at bay by bent and warped rebar poles. One long piece of metal was twisted into a pretzel-shape, the upside-down V pinning his neck to the ground. As the debris shifted and moved, so the metal began to press on his throat.

It wasn’t going to be long. He was going to die here.

“Hey guys?” TK-317 whispered.

They didn’t answer. The troopers had left him. He was going to die here alone.

He wasn’t ready...not yet...not here...

He tried to draw in a steadying breath, slow and shallow. Dust found its way through the small cracks in his helmet and his lungs burned. A single cough escaped him. The debris shifted.

TK-317 kept his eyes open as he waited for death.

“I’m here, buddy,” TK-441 said.

TK-317 couldn’t speak, but he focused on that voice.

He reminded himself that TK-441 was safe. TK-454, too. That was all that mattered.

The rebar was pressing harder against his throat now. It creaked and groaned. He opened his mouth. No final words came.

_Stay safe, my brothers_...TK-317 thought, and closed his eyes.

Time froze. A heaviness came over TK-317’s body, but it was not the weight of debris slowly crushing him. It felt like..a heavy blanket. Cold and sturdy. It chilled his bones, but kept him alive. When TK-317 opened his eyes again, the debris was being lifting above him, falling upwards by some unseen force.

The twisted rebar that had pressed against his throat was now floating away. His eyes followed the hellish metal rod as it drifted through the air, gently landing on the ground beside him.

TK-317 turned his head slowly. His wheezing was drowned out by the haunting rhythmic breaths of a dark lord standing over him, gloved hand extended, moving the last of the debris away.

For a moment, the trooper and the Sith Lord looked at each other in quiet contemplation.

Then, Darth Vader turned and walked down the corridor.

TK-317 was dimly aware of his comrades gathering him up, berating him on his bravery, but his mind was focused on the shadow of Vader fading in the distance.

Darth Vader had saved him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Dunno!” said TK-454. “We arrived at the rendezvous and he noticed we were short a trooper. He didn’t say anything, just marched down and saved you!”

TK-317 looked down at the twisted metal rebar that had almost ended his life mere moments ago. He picked it up. He watched the shadow of Vader disappear in the distance.

He didn’t know what any of this meant. He didn’t know if this was a sign for greater things, or a random kindness from Vader. But this was important...somehow…

He would keep the rebar with him as a reminder...just in case...


	2. Treebark (The Tale of TK-551 aka “Odds”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of the lone survivor of a rebel attack, determined to take down as many rebels as he can before his luck runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Art/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Odds is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

“Odds, you have to run.”

Tears stung TK-551’s eyes as he cradled Pep’s head in the crook of his arm.

“No,” he growled and fired blindly into the darkness of the Kashyyyk forest. The shadowy forms of rebels shrank behind the trees only to resurface moments later and return the blaster fire.

“They...won’t stop...” Pep gasped. “They-” Another coughing fit. Blood seeped through the cracks in the trooper’s armor.

Odds held him close. “I’m not leaving you. I can get us out of this.” A blaster bolt sizzled past his helmet. He ducked and fired a few more shots back.

“See?” Odds forced a smile beneath his helmet. “My bad aim will see us through, Pep…”

Pep always laughed at his terrible jokes. This time he didn’t respond.

“...Pep?”

Pep was very still.

Reality began to sink in. Odds looked around at his dead comrades strewn across the blood-stained clearing. Everyone was gone; troopers he had known for years, troopers he was proud to call friends. And here he was, uninjured, unscathed. Odds had never been shot before. Not a single scar blemished his body.

Pep had plenty of scars. Too many. “Lucky bastard,” Pep always teased. “Always beatin’ the odds.”

A thermal detonator rolled into view.

_Not this time,_ Odds thought. The detonator was too far away to throw back, and too close to be anything but deadly.

Odds bowed his head, pressed his helmet against his dead friend, and waited for death.

A thunderous crack sounded in the distance followed by a chorus of screams. When Odds opened his eyes, he saw the broken trunk of red-barked tree soar through the air towards him as if carried by magic. It crashed between Odds and the detonator, the very ground splitting beneath it on impact.

Seconds later, the detonator exploded.

Large chunks of fiery bark rained all around him, smoke filled the air, and yet Odds was unharmed.

_How…?_

“What was that?” An unseen rebel shouted.

“Careful, he may still be alive,” another responded. “Fire on sight!”

Odds gritted his teeth and lifted his blaster as the rebels charged towards him through the smoky haze.

He gripped Pep’s shoulder tightly.

_To hell with luck, and to hell with beating the odds. If I’m dying today then I’m taking these rebel scum with me._

“There he is! Fi-”

The hiss of a lightsaber cut through the rebel’s words. No one had time to scream before scarlet death came for them. Odds watched in awe as the red light blade tore through the air, slicing cleanly, killing mercilessly.

The rebels fell at the feet of Darth Vader seconds later.

Odds wanted to say thank you, to praise the dark lord for saving him. Instead a single word fell from his dry lips.

“Why?”

The ebony helmet turned slightly towards him. The gleam of a reflective, insectoid eye seemed to burn through Odd’s soul.

“It is as the Force wills.” And with that, Vader walked into the woods. Imperial reinforcements followed in pursuit of the remaining rebels.

Shakily, Odds laid Pep’s body on the ground, then picked up the remnants of the tree that had protected him from death.

_If the Force will it, then maybe it's time to press the luck the Force has given me._ He ran into the woods after Vader and the troopers, blaster in one hand, scorched bark in the other. _For Pep, for my squad, for the Empire._

 


	3. Tooth and Claw (The Tale of TK-6221 & TK-6222 aka "Adder" and "Krait")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tale of Twins Who Tend to Act First, Consider Consequences Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Art/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Adder and Krait is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

This was supposed to be a drill.

Just a jog around the mountain trail in armor. No blasters, no security, just the youngest squad in the garrison enjoying the quiet of the Cholgana’s Imperial mountain preserve.

There certainly wasn’t supposed to be a nexu waiting for them on the mountain’s peak.

“Tell me you got a plan, Addy,” Krait said, waving his hands at the ferocious beast.

“Of course, I do,” Adder assured his twin. “I _always_ have a plan!”

The nexu hissed and lunged forward, its tail snapping back and forth like a bullwhip. Both twins jumped back.

“Want to clue me in, then?” Krait asked.

“Our plan is to save our squad!” Adder replied, pointing to the unarmed troopers trapped between the nexu’s flank and the cliff’s edge. The nexu rolled its large head back towards the group, but Adder clapped his hands and drew its attention back to he and his brother.  

“That’s a _goal_ , not a plan.”

“Oh...” Adder shrugged. “Then, no. I guess I don’t have a plan, but you know what granddaddy always said: ‘Jump first, then figure out if you can swim’.”

“He said a lot of things, Add,” Krait grumbled. “Plus he never learned how to swi- _hey!_ _Stop_!”

But it was too late. One of the trapped troopers broke into a panicked run, attempting to squeeze past the nexu and down the trail path.

He didn’t get far. In a flash, the beast was on him, jaws wrapped around the trooper’s waist ready to bite down.

Krait didn’t think.

Adder didn’t hesitate.

Together, they charged.

Krait lunged on top of the nexu’s back, grabbing its upper lip and pulled as hard as he could.

Adder ran to the trooper and dragged him out of the nexu’s gaping maw, throwing him towards the path. “Go!” He shouted, but the trooper was already bolting down the path.

“Well, that’s one!” Adder declared. “Now what?”

The nexu let out a strangled roar, its frothing tongue lolling wildly as Krait held on to its upper jaw.

“I’m open to ideas!” Krait shouted.

“Wait!” Adder rummaged through the many pockets of his belt before producing a small knife with a two-prong tip.

“Is that a kriffing _cheese knife_?” Krait balked, digging his knees hard into the nexu’s back. “Why do you have that?!”

Adder scoffed. "For emergency cheese situations! You never know when a good sharp cheddar’s may-”  
"Just give it to me!"  
Adder tossed the knife to Krait, who drove it immediately into the largest of the nexu’s eyes. With an ear-piercing screech, the beast flung Krait off his back, and sent him crashing into his brother.

The massive beast fell on its side, gave a final violent thrash, then fell still.

For a moment Krait and Adder sat, looking at each other. Though their faces were obscured behind their helmets, they knew they were sharing a cocky grin.

“Well,” Krait laughed, clapping his brother’s shoulder with a shaky hand. “That wasn’t so bad.”

As if on cue, a chorus of roars echoed through the mountain side.

And the twins’ victorious smiles melted from their faces, as four nexu slinked up the side of the mountain.

Adder and Krait rose to their feet.

“Alright everyone,” Adder whispered. “Don’t run until we give the signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Krait asked.  
“Us getting eaten I guess,” Adder said, and grimaced when the troopers all bobbed their heads in agreement.

“‘Jump first’, right?” Krait sighed. “Ya know, maybe granddaddy wasn’t the best source for our pearls of wisdom.”

Adder gave a weak laugh, feeling sweat trickle down the sides of his face within his helmet.

“I’ll say this much, brother,” Krait said. “The plan’s working…”

It was.

The nexu had completely surrounded the twins and the rest of the squad were slowly making their escape down the trail.

“Hey, you’re right,” Adder said. “Looks like we’re a couple of- _KRAIT_!”

Two of the nexu leapt towards Adder’s brother, crashing their salivating jaws together as if competing for that first fatal bite.

Only the bite never came.

At first, Adder thought the world had slowed to a stop. The nexu floating suspended in the air...until he realized the beasts were struggling against an unseen force.

“Is it over?” Krait asked, his hands covering his lenses. “Am I dead?”

“Krait…” Adder breathed, looking at the shadowy figure above them. “Krait, look... _look up!_ ”

Krait looked up...then took a step back.

Darth Vader stood on a cliff looming over the twins, his very presence blotting out the sun itself. With a flick of his outstretched, gloved fist, all four nexu were wrenched away from the twins. The beasts howled in fear, falling over themselves screeching and whimpering, then scampered away down the side of the mountain.

Leaping with deadly grace, Vader descended from the rock, landing on his feet in front of the twins, cape fluttering behind him.

Both twins stood, frozen in place.

“Where is the rest of your squad?” Vader asked, his voice deep like the rolling thunder of a distant storm.

“D-down the path, sir,” Adder answered.

“Return to your posts.” Vader ordered. “Next time, do not sacrifice yourselves for the lives of cowards.”

Krait and Adder exchanged a nervous look, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Vader shot a hand out, and a sickening crunch sounded behind the twins.

They huddled together as a long, nexu fang and a curved claw floated in front of them, still dripping blood.

“A reminder and a warning for you both.”

Shakily, the twins took their bloody trophies.

“Go.”

Adder ran.

Krait remained frozen.

Muttering a curse Adder grabbed his brother, ripped the blood-soaked cheese knife from the nexu’s eye and ran down the trail without looking back.


	4. Thrust Lever (The Tale of TA-2633 aka “Bulwark”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of an AT-AT pilot who finally faces a problem he couldn’t solve by blowing it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Art/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Bulwark is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

 

 

TA-2633 lived his life following three basic principles: Obey orders, stay safe, and blow things up.

And as an AT-AT pilot, life had never been better.

The mission on Wobani was supposed to be a simple one: Storm the labor camp overrun by Rebels, or destroy the camp if it could not be reclaimed.

TA-2633 drove the Imperial Walker known as “Crusher”, through a narrow canyon, leading a garrison of a dozen tanks, two dozen AT-STs, and a hundred stormtroopers on foot.

They had not gone far before a distant roar sounded in the distance.

“What is that?” Compass, his co-pilot, asked.

“It sounds like rushing water,” TA-2633 replied, looking at the scanners, but...no that couldn’t have been right. There was nothing but mud and stagnant ponds for miles around.

TA-2633’s focus snapped to the viewport.

His heart dropped.

A dozen kilometers away and too close for comfort, mud poured into the canyon like an endless waterfall, the gray sludge rushing forward like a nightmarish monster set on devouring everything in its path.

He glanced back to his commander, who stared out the viewport blankly.

“Empire preserve us...” Colonel Starck breathed. He picked up his comm broadcasting to the garrison. “Fall back! Retreat!”

TA-2633 released the thrust lever, flipped switches and turned dials to begin turning the AT-AT around. Far below, tanks backed up at full speed, stormtroopers scattered, and AT-STs stumbled over each other to flee.

Everyone was moving too slow. And the mudslide was moving too fast.

“We’ll be safe up here,” the colonel said, grimly.

“We have to do _something_ ,” TA-2633 protested, his hands reaching uselessly for the main laser cannon’s trigger.

“It’s a loss, pilot,” Colonel Starck replied. “We can’t do anything for them now.”

TA-2633 gritted his teeth. For the first time in his career, he met a problem he couldn’t blast his way out of. _Obey orders. Stay safe. Blow things up._ TA-2633 sighed, realizing what he needed to do. _Life was going so well too._

“Sir,” TA-2633 said, rising from his pilot’s chair. “You have to leave.”

Colonel Starck arched an eyebrow. “No one’s going anywhere. Sit down, pilot. We are safe here.”

TA-2633 nodded to his co-pilot. “You too, Compass. Get out of here. Both of you.”

“Are you mad? We are not leaving, pilot,” Starck stormed towards TA-2633, who shrank reflexively as the colonel loomed over him. “Now, sit down and be quiet.”

TA-2633’s knees knocked together. He always obeyed orders, always. Life was so much easier when he did.

“I’m sorry, sir.” TA-2633 lunged forward and plucked the blaster from Starck’s holster. He leapt back and pointed it shakily between Starck and Compass.

“ _P-please,_ go!”

Compass ran out of the cockpit. Starck did not move.

“This is treason, pilot,” Starck snarled. “You best hope I do not survive that mudslide.”

TA-2633 wished he could have explained. He wished he had time. Instead he charged the blaster. “Go, sir!”

Starck’s murderous glare lasted until he was out of the cockpit and TA-2633 shut the door in his face.

Several agonizing minutes later, TA-2633 spied Starck and Compass’ heat signatures on his radar, emerging from the emergency hatch and joining the rest of the fleeing troopers.

TA-2633 breathed a sigh of relief, then jumped back into his chair, casting the blaster aside.

“Kriff...This is really gonna hurt. Sorry, Crusher,” he said, giving the AT-AT’s dash an affectionate pat.

Drawing in a deep breath, he slammed his fist into the largest of the many side panel controlling the walker’s legs. The cockpit rocked violently. Sparks flew as the control panel hissed and smoked. The walker’s right front and hind leg staggered.

Bracing a boot against the dash, and planting the other firmly on the ground, TA-2633 yanked the thrust lever hard towards him. The walker groaned as it tried to turn around, but its right side failed to comply.

The walker leaned, then leaned farther, legs buckling beneath it.

“C’mon, Crush. Lay down, girl.” TA-2633 glanced out the viewport. The flood of gray muck was less than a kilometer away.

With a strained growl, TA-2633 pulled the lever hard, willing the mighty behemoth to fall.

And with a loud snap, the lever broke free entirely.

“Aw, kriff,” TA-2633 groaned looking at the frayed wires where the lever was once installed.

There was nothing more he could do. He was at the mercy of gravity now.

“Maybe it’ll be quick.” The ground seemed to come up slowly. Mud splashed against the viewport. “Maybe...it won’t hurt. Mayb-”

The walker fell with a violent shudder. TA-2633 was hurled across the cockpit, slamming hard against a far wall. Lights exploded, shrapnel bashed against his helmet, ozone filled his nose through his cracked filter.

When the mud came, it crashed uselessly against the AT-AT’s hull, but it came at the viewport like a herd of stampeding dewbacks, shattering it entirely.

Mud rose around TA-2633, and he struggled desperately to keep his helmet afloat, silt seeping through his fractured vocoder.

When the mudslide finally quieted, the thick sludge had filled most of the cockpit, and TA-2633 found himself clawing desperately at the one wall where a small air pocket still existed. He clung to the interior, heart pounding in his ears, mud slowly pushing through the cracks in his helmet.

A crackle of activity sounded within TA-2633’s helmet. At first he feared it was the screams of his fellow troopers, that maybe his defensive wall had failed.

No...not screams...they were cheering!

Cheers of a hundred fellow troopers, of drivers and troopers and officers, modulated and naked voices alike celebrating the wall that saved them.

“W-whoo…” AT-2633 cheered weakly. The channel crackled and hissed and he knew his voice would not carry beyond his own helmet. Gritty sludge began to coat his chin, rise over his mouth. He breathed hard through his nose.

The cheers echoing through the speakers suddenly broke and died away, replaced with shouts.

“What was that?”

“Did you hear that?”  
“I heard it too.”

Footsteps thundered over TA-2633. He heard Compass’ voice. “He’s still in there! Crash! Get that blowtorch.”  
“Got it, Compass! Hey pilot, if you can hear us, hang in there, buddy! We’re comin’!”

Tears stung AT-2633’s eyes. They wouldn’t make it in time. He knew that blowtorch was going to take more than the few minutes he had left.

He wished he could thank them. He wished he could say goodbye.

He sank...and wished he could blow something up one last time.

As if to answer his wish, a muffled explosion shook TA-2633. Metal shrieked around him, mud sloshed around his helmet, his ears rang, his ribs screamed, and he felt himself being dragged out of the cockpit into the cold night air.

_No...not dragged..._ TA-2633 corrected looking down and realizing he was floating a half-meter over a scorched hole on Crusher’s cheek.

It was raining. The mud and dirt washed away from his helmet, revealing gray skies, a pale fallen walker, and a dozen stormtroopers surrounding the being who was keeping TA-2633 afloat.

“You were safe within the cockpit, pilot.”

To say Darth Vader was fearsome was an understatement. TA-2633 couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anything more terrifying. And here he was, dark lord of the Sith, just standing there with his arms folded.

_Kriff, he’s talking to you, pilot! Say somethin’!_

“Yeah, I was,” was all TA-2633 could think to say.

Vader tilted his helmet ever so slightly. The rain began to lighten. Somehow it fell around the floating pilot and the Sith lord, coming down heavily on the rest of the troopers.

“You sacrificed safety to create a bulwark.”

TA-2633 shrugged and dropped his gaze to the ground, half a meter below him. “Yeah, but...why should I be safe over everyone else?”

Vader’s bulbous dark lenses were unreadable. “Why, indeed.” He turned and leapt down from the AT-AT’s head.

TA-2633 dropped to the ground moments later, his legs nearly giving out beneath him.

Crash and Compass ran forward to catch him.  

“Hey, we got ya, pilot.” Crash said, patting his back. “Pilot...you got a name?”

“TA-2633,” Compass said.

Crash’s scoff came out staticky through his vocoder. “Nope, not good enough. Vader said ya made a bulwark, we’re callin’ ya Bulwark now. You good with that?”

TA-2633, now Bulwark, looked up at the trooper. A name. He never really needed one before, being safe, obedient and the faceless hand behind an Imperial walker’s gun.

“Y-yeah...yeah I’m good with that.”

“Hey what’s that?” Compass asked.

Bulwark looked down at his hand.

His fingers were locked tight around his walker’s broken thrust lever.

“Lucky charm, I’m thinkin’,” Crash said, clapping a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Bulwark replied. “I guess it is.”

 


	5. Stimpack (The Tale of TK-267 aka "Meds")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of a field medic who refuses to leave his patients when rebels attack his base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Art/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Meds is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

Another series of explosions shook the walls of the medbay.

Meds wanted to believe breaking the medbay door’s control panel would keep the rebels out. Or at the very least buy him some time.

But he was sitting on a treasure trove of medical supplies in one of the largest Imperial bases on Onderon; these particular rebels weren’t going to let a broken door panel stop them.

Meds looked over at the two dozen stasis pods locked in with him. Each one was filled with comatose officers and troopers alike, all infected with a virus Meds had never seen before.

As a field medic, he was equipped to handle most emergencies: broken bones, missing limbs, hangovers, but a viral epidemic? It was beyond anything he'd been trained for.

The few officers and handful of troopers who were immune to the virus were barely enough to keep the base fully operational. Eventually, the lack of Imperial activity caught the notice of the local rebels. Onderon rebels were the most ruthless in the galaxy, most of them trained by Saw Gerrera himself. It didn’t take them long to overwhelm the skeleton crew at the base.

Now, they were storming the med bay.

Meds’ patients wouldn’t survive this.

 

“Well, they still gotta get through me first,” Meds said, pulling out a pair of Se-14r light repeating blasters. He gripped his weapons tightly, refusing to let his hands shake.  
A soft thump sounded on the other side of the door.

His hands shook anyway.

Meds trained both blasters at the door and held his breath.

More dull thuds shook the door.

_That doesn’t sound like a battering ram,_ Meds thought. _What are they-_

The explosion knocked Meds off his feet. He slammed hard into one of the stasis pods, his helmet cracking against the metal frame. Both blasters flew out of his hands, clattering somewhere nearby. His audio sensors whined, his vision blurred. Thick chunks of debris rained mercilessly onto his armor. Hot molten pieces ate away at the thick material between his plates and seared his skin.

Meds collapsed to the ground, smoke billowing all around him as he felt blindly for his blasters.

“There’s an Imp in here!” A silhouette shouted through the thick brown haze. Four more silhouettes joined him.

Meds blinked back tears and caught a glimpse of dark metal. He grabbed for it and swung the blaster around.

“Stay back!” He warned, pointing frantically from one dark shape to another, struggling to clear his head. He tasted metal and realized he had bitten into his lip.

For a moment the rebels stopped advancing.

Everything went quiet. The dull ringing in his head subsided and was replaced with another noise: Laughter.

Meds’ heart sank as he realized why.

The deadly weapon he aimed at the rebels was actually a broken stimpack.

Although the applicator had a short barrel and elongated grip like his blaster, the muzzle was little more than a long needle affixed to a rounded cylinder. The needle was bent uselessly to the side.

The smoke began to clear and the five intruders stepped forward to reveal themselves.

Looking more like marauders than actual rebels, they were covered in a hodgepodge of stolen trooper armor welded with spikes and layered with ragged clothes. Meds recognized the weequay leader as one of Saw’s lieutenants. His wanted poster was strewn all over Onderan.

The weequay looked down at him with cold, beady eyes.

“Time’s up, trooper,” he said, lifting a blaster rifle.

Meds recognized the rifle immediately. It was an E-11, a stormtrooper’s weapon, a weapon rebel scum like him doesn’t deserve to carry.

Despite the throbbing pain of his bruised body, despite fractured ribs and most likely a concussion,  Meds found himself rising to his feet, stimpack still pointed at the rebels.

“What are ya gonna do, Imp?” The weequay snickered. “Stab us to death with yer little needle?”

“Dunno,” Meds said, a tired, bloody grin growing beneath his helmet. “Let’s find out.”

Meds knew he wasn’t going to survive that first step. He knew once he took that step they were going to blast him away, then most likely kill his brothers and sisters asleep in their stasis pods.  
It didn’t matter.

He was going to defend them with everything he had.

Even if it was just a broken stimpack.

So Meds took that step forward.

A shot rang out….

...and somehow glanced harmlessly off the side of his helmet.

For several heartbeats, no one moved. Then one-by-one, the rebels’ eyes grew wide, their hands reached for their own throats. They trembled violently, gurgling and gasping, as if trying to break free from some unseen energy that seized them.

Meds took a step back, his mind scrambling to understand what was happening.

And then he heard it: a sound he had only known through stories from other troopers. Some described it as calm waves before a massive storm, others said it was the sound of a living, breathing nightmare.

It was rhythmic, cold and inhuman.

It was also the most awe-inspiring sound Meds had ever heard.

When Darth Vader emerged from the corridor, his dark form filled the entire doorway. His gloved hand formed a claw directed at the rebels. The Sith  lord’s dark, bulbous lenses scanned the room until they found Meds.

For a moment he did nothing, standing deathly still as a thick silence hung in the air.

Then Vader closed his fist.

Meds will never forget the sound of five necks snapping in unison, like the tiny pops and cracks of firesnappers on Empire Day.

The rebels’ lifeless bodies hung limp where they stood, held up only by Vader’s will. Vader’s gaze never left Meds as he waved his hand and sent the rebels flying to the side of the room in a heap.

Meds could do nothing but stare. His voice had left him, his head still throbbed, his knees knocked together from sheer adrenaline.

“I am in no need for a vaccination, medic.”

Meds blinked. “What?”

It took Meds a moment to realize he was still holding the broken stimpack like a weapon.

It took another moment to realize it was aimed directly at Darth Vader’s chest.

He lowered the stimpack.

Several stormtroopers filed in behind Vader, who turned to address the sergeant. “Take all the medical supplies you can and destroy the rest. We will not leave anything for the rebels to scavenge later.”  
The sergeant nodded and signaled his troopers who began dumping bottles, stimpacks, and heavy equipment into crates for transport.

“What about the patients,” Meds asked.

“Leave them,” Vader replied, turning to leave.

“No!” Meds shouted, momentarily forgetting he was shouting at someone who just snapped the necks of five rebels with just the clench of his fist.

_Think, Meds think! Give Vader a reason to save them! Give him a reason to care!_

He looked down at the broken stimpack in his hand.

“Vaccines!” He blurted. “My lord, these patients...they are sick with something we don’t have a vaccine for! If we can get them back to a med bay with trained medical staff we could make a vaccine that’ll help us prevent future epidemics!”

Vader had not moved.

“Very well.” Vader turned to his Sergeant again. “Take one pod. Leave the rest.”

“My lord!” Meds protested as Vader left the medbay. “We can save them all! Lord Vader, please! We need...I mean...there’s more...what about testing? What about more samples?!”

_It can’t end like this! It can’t!_

Meds burst out of the hallway, shouting after Vader. “They are Stormtroopers! They don’t deserve this!”

Darth Vader never broke his stride. He turned the corner and his footsteps faded in the distance.

A pair of troopers brushed by Meds with a single pod. Meds couldn’t see who was inside. He returned to the medbay and looked over the remaining twenty-three pods.

He wasn’t going to leave them. That was it. Period. Vader could leave him behind for all he cared, Meds wasn’t going to let twenty-three brothers and sisters die alone. He’d be there for all of them for as long as he could.

“Excuse us.”

Meds turned to see another pair of troopers standing behind him. “What?”

The sergeant came in behind the troopers. “Move it, trooper. We gotta load these pods up, double-time.”

“What?” He repeated, taking a step back.

Four more pairs of troopers filed in. Each pair grabbed a pod and rolled them out of the medbay.

The sergeant clapped a hand on Meds’ armored shoulder. “Lord Vader expects twenty-four healthy troopers and a vaccine out of this. Gather whatever medical info you got for these troopers and head for the shuttle. We leave in twenty.”

Meds looked down at the broken stimpack still in his hand. He moved to throw it aside, but...he shoved it in his empty holster instead. “I’m on it, sir!”

 


	6. Slave’s Cuff  (The Tale of TD-448 aka “Anchor”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of a sandtrooper who is prepared to sacrifice his future for the sake of those less fortunate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Artist/Co-Creator: [Laivaaja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Laivaaja)  
> Writer/Co-Creator:[SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/)
> 
> The story of Anchor is part of [**Bishop’s Hand**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816),  
>  which can be read here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/13146927/chapters/30069816>

It was almost midnight and the sun still loomed over the desert planet of Haff’sol.

Under its merciless heat, a squad of sandtroopers sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, roasting in their dust-caked armor while they finalized the details of their mission.

Anchor, as usual, was separate from the group. He lay belly down on the flat, clay roof and surveyed the landscape through his monoculars.

An expansive desert of blood red sand and jagged black mountains surrounded dozens of small settlements, including the one where Anchor and his squad hid. Each small town, forever baking beneath the tidally-locked sun, was made up of hundreds of aliens from across the galaxy all looking for a fresh start.

_And it’s in these settlements where the Empire is needed most,_ Anchor thought, zooming in on one particular warehouse half a klick away.   _This town may be under endless daylight, but there sure is a lot of darkness lurking beneath the surface_ .  
At first glance, the warehouse was no different from any other building in town. Three cubes of dark brown clay were stacked unevenly atop each other. The few windows were boarded up with thick slats of wood and the doors were reinforced plastoid.

Yet Intelligence revealed that this unremarkable building was the central operation for a small cartel that had moved into the town several months ago.  
Anchor knew this mission wasn’t some noble act of dismantling gang activity on a remote desert world.

The Empire didn’t care about the Spice problem on this side of the galaxy. And the mission certainly wasn’t about saving innocent lives from Spice addiction and gang violence. Getting rid of this specific criminal organization on this particular planet would help solidify an uneasy alliance the Empire was forging with the Hutt Cartel.

Anchor hated missions fueled by politics.

While the sergeant and the rest of his squad huddled around a holo displaying the blueprints for the warehouse, Anchor continued to study the building itself. It was covered in red dust from a recent storm, the fine silt highlighting footprints on the walkways and handprints on the doors and walls.

Several long tracks scarred the ground where crates of unrefined Spice had been dragged through the double-doors.

There was another set of tracks that caught Anchor’s interest. Beside the more familiar footprints of the nikto and gamorrean henchmen were several pairs of smaller prints. They weren’t wide like an ugnaughts nor narrow like a jawa’s.

Anchor squinted.

_They look almost..._

The door to the hut flew open.

A tall, emaciated human dressed in rags stumbled out of the hut, his eyes wild with fear and fingers clawing desperately at the slave collar around his neck.

Seconds later, a pair of gamorrean guards burst out of the hut after the slave, grabbing the chain attached to his collar and yanking him roughly back inside.

The human didn’t have time to scream before the door slammed shut.

“Sarge,” Anchor said, sitting up. “This isn’t just a Spice operation. They got slaves too.”

Anchor expected the entire squad to look at him, to murmur surprise or do _something._ No one looked up.

The sergeant merely waved a gloved hand dismissively.

“We are just here to destroy the Spice, trooper.”

“Yeah, but,” Anchor waved a hand behind him at the hut in the distance. “If they are dealin’ in slaves right next door to the Spice, we might as well take down both operations, right?”

The sergeant raised his head, and Anchor could feel the withering stare behind the helmet. “Our mission is the Spice. Slaves are not our concern.”

Anchor held that gaze. He didn’t blink. “Sir, we can address _both_. I think-”

The sergeant shut off the holodisk and squared his wide shoulders. Even crouched on a rooftop, the sergeant was an imposing figure, taller than Anchor and twice as wide, his white pauldron that marked his rank giving him an even broader appearance.

“TD-448, you’re new to my squad so let’s get one thing straight: this is your _last_ chance. I’ve read your file. Before coming here you were almost charged with desertion, running off on some crazy side trip that almost cost your squad their mission.”

Anchor stiffened. “That bomb was going to take out half the slums in that town.”

“You disobeyed orders for a bunch of homeless aliens,” the sergeant said, flatly. “This mission is your last shot, trooper. You step out of line again and the Empire’s done with you. Darth Vader has a special interest in this mission and so help me if you screw this up, I’ll choke you myself before he gets the chance to.”

Anchor clenched his teeth so hard he thought his jaw might break.

“Yes...sir…”

The sergeant turned the holodisk back on.

Anchor barely listened to the recap of the mission.

All he could see was the terror in the human slave’s eyes as he was dragged back into that hut.

_We have a chance to turn this political mission into something more meaningful. Something that could help innocent people. I didn’t join the Empire to destroy Spice for some sleemo Hutt. I did it to help the galaxy._

Anchor looked back at the hut. Skinny trunks of deep green palm trees surrounded it like prison bars.

_I’m not leaving this planet until those slave are free. If Lord Vader is gonna kill me for it, then so be it._

Shrugging off the chill threatening to overtake his spine, Anchor settled in beside his fellow squad and studied the blueprints with renewed interest.

The hut was simply labeled “Storage”, but beneath it was a long tunnel that lead into an open area beneath the warehouse. A large ventilation shaft ran alongside the tunnel, ending right over the center of the storeroom. With any luck, and the element of surprise, he’d only have the two armed gamorreans to deal with.

Luck wasn’t usually on his side, he left that to his old academy buddy, Odds. All Anchor had was bullheadedness and hope.

_Who knows...maybe that’ll be enough…_

While the citizens of Haff’sol slept, Anchor and his squad moved through the empty streets under the midnight sun. They stopped in an alleyway just outside the back entrance of the warehouse, Anchor taking care to stay behind the rest of the squad.

The sergeant peeked around the corner and raised his fist. The squad pulled out their blaster rifles, shifting into their assigned positions.

Anchor took a step back and waited.

After a few minutes, the sergeant lowered his fist.

Taking another step back, Anchor watched as the tightly formed squad charged the warehouse.

As soon as the last trooper disappear into the warehouse, two armed Nikto guards filed out of the hut. Anchor raised his comm, about to warn his squad of the newcomers when he heard blaster fire ring out, both nikto guards fell seconds later.

Taking that as his cue, Anchor ran towards the hut.

As expected, the hut was empty save for a handful of unmarked crates and an out-of-place rug hastily covering what looked like a trap door.

Anchor holstered his E-11 and pulled out a small multi-tool knife. He pried open the air shaft just above the trap door to find the shaft was little more than a round metal tube forcing warm air from the storeroom out into the hut itself.

The moment Anchor wiggled his entire body into the shaft, an explosion shook the entire hut. Through his comm there was frantic chatter. Unforseen explosives, flammable Spice, someone had a thermal detonator.

After the second explosion, Sergeant ordered the troopers to check in.

Each squad member reported their designation number.

Except Anchor.

“TD-448? Dammit! Where is he?”

A noisy crash shook the air vent before Anchor could confess his whereabouts.

Looking back to the tunnel’s entrance, Anchor could see shadows of three large figures, oinking angrily as they ran out of the hut.

“Sergeant,” Anchor said into his comm, “three guards are headed from the storage hut to your location.”

“TD-448, where are you? Get to the warehouse, _immediately._ ”

Anchor winced.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Anchor turned off his comm, and made his way further down the air shaft. By the time he reached the grate, another explosion shook the shaft.

His gut twisted.

_I should be with my squad._

Suddenly, the tunnel began to feel very small, the warm air oppressive and the fans roared against his helmet.

_This was a mistake. What am I doing here? Why do I always have to go off on my own?_

Another explosion...

_Is Darth Vader going to return to find me surrounded by free slaves and a warehouse full of dead stormtroopers?_

The knot in his stomach turned to lead.

_I have to go back…this is crazy…_

He began to back up, scooting backwards away from the grate.

A child’s scream tore through the white noise of the air shaft.

Anchor’s heart lurched.

The scream was followed by a hair-raising zap of electricity...then another ear-piercing cry.

Anchor launched himself towards the grate, sliding over it just in time to see a gamorrean guard shaking a vibro-pike at a pair of little girls.

The human girl, her thick black hair gathered in a pair of round buns, was clinging to a small togruta girl, her orange and red head-tails barely nubs atop her head. The girls shrieked as the gamorrean jabbed the vibro-pike at them again, the electrified tip coming dangerously close to the togruta.

There was no way Anchor could pry the grate open in time to stop the gamorrean. Even with a multi-tool, there were far too many screws to undo before the girls were electrocuted again.

The gamorrean raised his pike.

Anchor’s heart dropped.

“Stop!”

Anchor slammed his fists down against the grate with all his weight thrown into it.

He had hoped the noise would at least draw the guard’s attention temporarily away from the girls.

To the stormtrooper’s surprise, it did a lot more.

The grate came completely loose.

Anchor fell...

...and dropped onto the gamorrean.

It was not the smoothest of entrances. Anchor landed awkwardly on top of the guard’s piggish head, grabbing one of his horns and yanking hard, bringing the gamorrean down with him.

The guard squealed in anger, flailing for a moment on his back as Anchor pushed himself up. He grabbed his E-11, slamming it hard against the guard’s snout. Then with a quick spin of the blaster rifle, Anchor fired a single shot between the guard’s eyes.

The gamorrean went still.

The room went quiet.

Anchor looked up.

The girls still clung to each other, staring wide-eyed at the stormtrooper standing over the gamorrean’s corpse.

The rest of the slaves hadn’t moved either. There were close to thirty of them from what Anchor could tell. All of them were different species, caked with blood red dirt, wearing ragged clothes and scared, exhausted expressions.

They had been through a lot…

_And who knows if they will even follow a sandtrooper out of here. We aren’t exactly welcome in this part of the galaxy._

Anchor turned his attention back to the little girls and found that the togruta was raising her hand.

Anchor’s heart sank.

_Is she trying to surrender?_

After a moment, the girl’s face brightened and she waved her hand, enthusiastically.

The human girl raised her hand too, and joined in the wave.

Anchor smiled wide behind his helmet, and waved back.

A door hissed open behind him, and Anchor turned just in time to see three more gamorrean’s running towards him.

One grabbed his E-11 and flung it to the ground, while the others grabbed his arms, holding him in place as the third pulled out his vibro-pike.

Anchor’s eyes shifted from the pike aimed at his chest to the two little girls.

He opened his mouth, intending to shout a warning: _Don’t look! Run! Save yourselves!_

His voice caught when he saw that the girls were no longer clinging to each other.

They were now on their feet, jumping up and down, shouting…no... _cheering!_

Although the language wasn't Basic, he could tell they were rooting for him. They believed he could save them.

They believed in him.

With a strained roar, Anchor threw his whole body to the left and kicked the gamorrean on his right hard in the knee. Both guards stumbled as the pike from the third guard slid right past the trooper’s torso. Anchor lurched forward, slamming his helmet hard against the guard’s snout.

Free from the stunned guards’ grasp, Anchor lunged towards his E-11. Flipping over onto his back, he fired three shots.

Three bodies fell to the ground.

The rhythmic cheer of the little girls were now joined by the rest of the slaves, all shouting encouragement in their own languages.

Anchor knelt over the guards’ bodies, rummaging through their pockets until he found a small device.

When he rose to face the slaves he realized they had stopped cheering.

They all stood now. Quiet. Unmoving. All eyes focused on the single sandtrooper.

They were waiting for him.

Anchor flicked the switch of the device and over thirty slave collars clattered to the ground at once.

Free from her collar, the togruta girl took a few steps towards Anchor, her eyes wide with wonder, as if the trooper had performed some sort of miracle.

Anchor tilted his head. He didn’t have much experience with children, much less alien ones.

Trying to appear as harmless as possible, Anchor holstered his blaster rifle and opened his arms, palms flat as if to say “I am unarmed and will not harm you.”

The togruta ran towards Anchor immediately and leapt into his open arm. Reflexively, Anchor stooped down and caught her. She wriggled her way upwards until she made herself at home in the crook of his arm, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

Feeling a small tug at his other arm, Anchor looked down to find the human girl, staring up at him with round, brown eyes.

He held out his hand.

She took it.

The rest of the slaves fell in line behind him.

 

 

A bone-rattling vibration sounded overhead. Anchor looked up at the ceiling and was met with crimson dirt sprinkling over his lenses.

He had no idea what was waiting for them on the surface. Whether it was the Empire or the cartel, Anchor did not see his future being particularly bright.

_But maybe I can stall whoever’s up there long enough for these people get away._ Anchor smiled grimly. _Maybe Lord Vader will be too busy killing me to notice their escape._

“Let’s get you out of here,” Anchor said. “When I say run…”

His voice faded away as he heard the familiar, thunderous sound of armored boots echoing down the tunnel.

For a moment Anchor was filled with relief...then dread hit. There was another sound above the noise of his fellow troopers. The dull thud of heavy, dark boots. And above it all, the unmistakable, mechanical hiss of Darth Vader’s breath.

The togruta child clung tighter to his neck. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. He knew she couldn’t understand him, but his tone, however shaky it was, seemed to help. He felt her relax in his arms and rest her face against his shoulder.

She deserved a chance. The girl gripping his hand deserved one too. They all did.

The door slid open.

Anchor was dimly aware of the stormtroopers filing into the storeroom on either side of him. He barely registered the sergeant charging in after them, shouting in Anchor’s face, spitting a string of curses about Anchor’s disobedience.

Anchor’s focus was solely on the dark figure who strode into the storeroom last. The Sith lord moved past the angry sergeant to loom over stormtrooper.

Anchor stared up at Darth Vader and awaited his sentence.  
"You disobeyed a direct order from your commander, stormtrooper.”

“I did, my Lord.”  
“You abandoned your squad.”

Cold guilt splashed Anchor’s face. “We had more than enough troopers inside the warehouse. The cartel’s slave ring needed to be shut down, so...” Anchor hesitated. “...so I shut it down.”  
“That wasn’t for you to decide, TD-448,” the sergeant spat.    
“I did what I had to do,” Anchor said firmly though his gaze was still locked to Vader.  
The sergeant stepped between them, pushing Anchor back with a hard shove. “They are _slaves_ , trooper. Merchandise. They did not concern the mission. They do not concern the Empire. They-”  
Vader’s hand shot out.

A sickening crack sounded.

The sergeant collapsed and fell still.  
Anchor’s jaw fell. His mouth went dry. Time slowed to a crawl.

_This is it. I'm next._

Anchor was about to stoop down and pry the togruta child from his neck when Vader spoke.

“Short-sightedness is useless to the Empire. Shutting down the slave ring was the correct decision. Allowing it to continue would have given the cartel a chance to recover quickly from the loss of their Spice operation.” Vader folded his arms across his chest. “Your time as a sandtrooper is done. You will report to the _Executor_ for your new assignment, Sergeant.”

Anchor stared, dumbfounded.

_Sergeant? Me? Did he just promote me? Did he just say the_ Executor? _Vader’s ship?_

No more desolate planets with lonely outposts.

No more shaking coarse sand out of his boots and pouring sweat out of his bucket.

Vader raised a gloved finger to Sergeant Anchor. “I have put faith in your instincts, Sergeant. Do not prove me wrong.”

“I won’t, sir,” Anchor said, standing tall, chin up to show his seriousness.

A light snore drifted off the togruta child fast asleep on his shoulder.

A bit quieter he affirmed. “I won’t.”


End file.
